


you know better babe (i will come back)

by redluna



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Or where Clayton could really use a hug and some whiskey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: It wasn't his first time being reborn. At least this time, though, there was a warm place to land.
Relationships: Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	you know better babe (i will come back)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from It Will Come Back by Hozier because I'm weak like that.
> 
> Written for: "Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing"

Clayton Sharpe—or Amos Kinsley or the dozen other names tossed to the wayside--was supposed to stay down. Couldn’t see things that might trick you off a safe path if you kept your eyes set to the ground. But then, as it so happened, going down for people that shone so much brighter than yourself almost didn’t sting at all.

Coming back, with the sound of brittle laughter in his ears and the rasp of cards still beneath his fingertips, happened to hurt like one mean son of a bitch.

Made him wonder if there might be a touch of something divine in that crooked thing lurking out there, after all. He couldn’t imagine any God that got a good look at the state of his soul would send him back without at least a touch of suffering.

It made figuring out where he was a bit of an effort after fighting to get off the sheet laid across his body. No room at the saloon would ever be this austere. Bit hard to imagine anyone there—or anyone with  _ sense _ —leaving him with his guns either.

At least until he got a handful of faltering steps down the stairs on the other side of the door. There was a rumble of a voice there, growing louder with each step he took; one already entirely too familiar for the brief time he had time to get acquainted with it.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

Clayton wished he wasn’t rubbed raw enough to feel stripped bare even with his clothes still on. Anything that could keep him from having to acknowledge that the tremor in his chest came less from the pain and more from the waver that echoed within each of the dear Reverend's words.

There was nothing to a man like him that should have mattered to anyone. Not a reason for a respect in Mr. Fogg’s eyes or the fear in Arabella’s. No one should have wept over him as fitfully as Miriam. And no man who had stood, more composed than ever, to grace a soul most would spit on should be all but shaking on his knees now.

“He can’t be gone. He…” The sharp breath that Matthew drew in wouldn’t have even been noticeable if Clayton hadn’t finally stumbled close enough. “I don’t know how to forgive you for taking him.”

Clayton sighed, lips dropping to the top of Matthew’s head before he could think better of it. If it left him sprawling forward onto his ass after then, oh well. At least he got to see the vulnerable happiness in those wide— _ beautiful _ —eyes as he tumbled in front of the other man.

“Guess I didn’t make it clear enough,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna be responsible for your fall, nor anyone else’s either.”

He didn’t deserve the large, chapped hands that cupped his face to draw it near, but then, that did seem to be the theme of the night. And maybe, just this once, there wasn’t any harm in breathing the same breath as another, if only he could keep being responsible for the awestruck smile on the Reverend's face.

“Only if I get to help you rise each time, Mr. Sharpe, only then.”

**Author's Note:**

> In which I start to wonder if I should just make a series of "Quarantine Writing" or, even better, "Written When I should Have Been Working".


End file.
